Ceri didn’t know what a birthday was. He had no concept of time, of days turning into weeks, weeks into months. His world was a simple one: hunger, cold, and the endless search for warmth.
Today was supposed to be his birthday. Or so Maria, the kind old woman who had taken him in, had said. But birthdays were for puppies with mothers, for puppies who were loved and cherished. Ceri was neither.
He remembered a time, a distant, hazy memory, of warmth and softness. A comforting scent and a rhythmic heartbeat. But that world had vanished, replaced by the harsh reality of the streets. He had been found abandoned in a cardboard box, a tiny, helpless creature alone in a cold, indifferent world.
Maria had taken him in out of pity, a solitary figure in a solitary life. She fed him, sheltered him, but there was a distance between them, a chasm that Ceri couldn’t bridge. She was a substitute for a mother, but she was not a mother.
As the day wore on, a profound loneliness washed over Ceri. He missed the warmth he had known, the comforting presence of a loving mother. He would often look out the window, searching for a familiar face, a face that would never appear.
Maria bought him a new toy that day, a squeaky rubber bone. It was a gesture of kindness, a feeble attempt to bring joy into his life. But toys were not enough. What Ceri craved was love, the unconditional love of a mother.
As night fell, Ceri curled up at Maria’s feet, seeking the warmth of her body. But it was a cold comfort. He dreamed of a different life, a life filled with milk, playful nips, and the soothing rhythm of a heartbeat. But when he woke, he was back in the cold, harsh reality.
Another day had passed, another day without his mother. Ceri’s birthday was a stark reminder of his loss, a constant ache in his heart. He was just a puppy, a creature born to love and be loved, yet condemned to a life of loneliness.
